


take your fight outside

by secondhandbruises



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Attempt at Humor, Five Has Anger Issues, Gen, all lowercase, five is Not having it, five says fuck!, five's grumpy, he's serious this time, klaus is trying to get sober, leave the old man be, sibling "bonding", the alcohol is gone!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 12:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18031760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondhandbruises/pseuds/secondhandbruises
Summary: five is mad because somebody's trying to ruin his day.





	take your fight outside

**Author's Note:**

> i love heem (:
> 
> p.s. some of the formatting is wack bc i pasted from docs but i cant be assed to fix it bc i know itll somehow get worse

“the hell is going on?” teeny, tiny number five  _ fumed _ with every available atom in his microscopic (to most), mid-pubescent body. he was angry because of the incredibly extreme lack of any suitable alcoholic beverage in the entire house. someone had gone through a hell of a lot to ruin his day, the poor ‘old man’ thought. as in, someone siphoned through every cabinet, pantry, and secret cubby hole to dispose of every ounce of mind altering substance in the manor. the mystery dolt had even managed to purge reginald hargreeves’s sacred abandoned study. needless to say, five was prepared to shoot the place up.

 

ironically, the last place the smallest member of the umbrella academy found himself was the dry bar in the mansion’s parlor. the shelves and nooks had been cleaned out, with only a few measly wine bottles remaining. he perused his limited options, finding that none of the left overs still had the seals intact. by the looks of the corks, the job was done hastily, and the plugs were replaced only enough to keep them from popping back out. it was suspicious and half-assed.

 

little five dubiously climbed atop the counter and reached, as far as his stubby arms could get him, towards the highest sitting bottle of mourvedre. it teeters precariously on the edge of the rack, and the boy is irrationally sure he’s going to die via self induced concussion, before gently tipping into his steady hand. he inspects the label and date, giving the ripped seal a  _ you’re on thin fucking ice, buddy _ glare. no longer on good terms with the shit he had to give, five ripped the cork back out with his bare hands. 

 

he scrambled for a cup, settling for a mug that read  _ “i’m stoned, not stupid” _ , having a moment of  _ hmm… doubt _ , and then concluding that it had to be one of number four’s past attempts to get on their dad’s nerves (not that the man paid enough attention to them to get his panties in a twist over menial things like that but okay). number five flicked the cork off the table into some unknown and unexplored crevice. still angrily, he tipped the bottle over to spill into his mug, fully intending to drain the whole thing.

 

without bothering to make sure the contents were  _ actually  _ red wine, like it was supposed to be, five slurped up a large swig. calmy, he swallowed with a grimace. 

 

“what the  _ fuck,” _ five seethed, utterly consumed with disappointment. whichever buffoon that had the bright idea to replace the wine with hawaiian punch was going to suffer at his hand. preferably immediately after he rebooted his brain with coffee.

 

teleporting into the kitchen, his petite form still ever festering with rage, the oldest hargreeves child locked his jaw and set to work. he stomped around, bare feet thudding against the floor as obnoxiously as possible, collecting the ground coffee beans, filter, and water necessary to start his already terrible day. he put the items down onto the island more forcefully than the task required, determined to cause enough ruckus to wake the rest of his moronic clan for their troubles. the coffee pot gets rinsed out, almost broken, and topped up with enough water to easily make eight cups. it was likely that five wouldn’t be sharing. he poured the liquid into the reservoir of the coffee maker. pressing the start button, five proceeded to wash his tainted juice mug and then find a way to supervise his brewing patience.

 

while dragging a chair out of the dining room, five was careful to hold it just so that it screeched all the way to its destination, then dropping it inattentively, grinning appreciatively at the loud  _ bang!  _ that resounded when the stone tile was contacted. he sat, crossing his arms in what could be perceived as childish vexation. in the middle of the quiet room, five brooded, waiting for his first victim to step into the trap.

 

to his surprise (and delight), klaus was somehow the first to awake and enter. the seance’s overdramatic presence flourished, easily patching the gaps in the room with his boyish, flamboyant personality. painstakingly, the boy scooted his chair around, inch by inch, to overlook the doorway instead of his coffee. the expression on his face was purely murderous.

 

klaus either didn’t notice, or was too busy being extravagant and eccentric to mind it, and sashayed past his infinitesimal kid brother to raid the refrigerator of anything that could be consumed without preparation. as he dug up an archaic jug of pulpy orange juice, he waggled his eyebrows, “what’s my favorite pocket-sized sibling doing up so early? and why, pray tell, does he look so bloodthirsty?”

 

“some carpet munching  _ cretin _ ,” he spat with absolute fury, “has removed every fluid milliliter of liquid courage in this godforsaken place. i am going to die.”

 

“oh, yeah,” number four replied simply; thoughtfully. he planted his ass upon the counter, chugging o.j. straight from the carton. number five grimaced,  _ that’s disgusting _ , and the coffee maker chose that second to beep in warning. the ravenette popped off of his perch, scuttling towards the pot with vigor. he snatched up the dumb mug he’d been planning to use to get drunk earlier and filled it to the brim. uncaring of the scalding temperature, the boy tugged the quantity up do his mouth, gratefully slurping a burning mouthful.

 

marginally less irate, he fished for answers, “do you know who did it, then?”

 

“mhm,” klaus hummed. he eyed the remaining coffee hungrily, but decided not to test his brother any further. instead, the ghost whisperer tossed the empty orange juice container at the garbage and, opened the fridge again, and produced a miraculously brand new carton of chocolate milk. with an interested shrug to himself, he tore into it and went to town.

 

irritation rears its familiar head again, and the temporal assassin has to take another hot dram of his outlet to keep from strangling his sibling. he felt the strain in his throat as he tries not to start yelling, “are you gonna tell me?”

 

“i did,” number four gave another noncommittal shrug. “i’m trying to get sober, and it’s hard with all of satan’s temptations right in my face any time i turn around. so i threw all of it out.”

 

realistically, five could see the honesty and struggle in his eyes; the difficulty of his decision weighing him down in slump of his shoulders. the reason made sense, but it didn’t tame the twinge in his brain that was demanding justice.  _ throttle him!  _ his head voice challenged, and five could hardly stop himself from leaping forward with his hands out, “ _ you WHAT!” _

 

(klaus was  _ very _ lucky that diego walked by when he did.)


End file.
